Bad Romance
by AthenaSophia85
Summary: You wouldn't have thought it possible - after all, you'd been hunting with the three of them for at least a whole year. But, on the ride back from the monster-of-the-week hunt, you learn first hand just how much Team Free Will wants you...


Numb.

Your ass was numb, from sitting in the cramped backseat of the Impala for God-only-knew how many hours. And now, you were cold. What had possibly possessed you to wear shorts and a tank top on a vamp hunt, in late no less October, was beyond you. It might have had something to do with the fact that in the last six months, you'd ruined at least three pairs of jeans and too many t-shirts to count. Although, on closer inspection of that logic, you realized that you'd _still_ managed to tear what little fabric you had on the leg of your shorts and there was _still_ a good-sized swipe fraying along the edge of your tank top, from about mid-stomach to the bottom hem. Clearly, short of going to a hunt completely _naked_, or in full-body medieval armor, you weren't ever getting out with clothes in the same condition as when you went in.

Right now, you'd happily kill for a flannel shirt you had not-so-subtly stolen from Dean and the last pair of jeans that you owned. Alas, both were currently tossed over the edge of your bed back at the Bunker. Luckily for your half-frozen thighs, that was where you, the boys and Cas were headed to now. The drive back, though, was dragging ass and you felt as if time had pretty much stuttered to a dead stop.

To try and pass the time you tried to think about what you would do as soon as you got through the doors of the first-floor garage. It was a tough decision: fix a huge pot of coffee, or hit the showers at a dead run, so you could beat the boys to some much-needed privacy. The thought of stepping into a hot shower, with steam so thick you'd need a knife to cut it, made you smile to yourself like an idiot.

_Jeez, Sam!_ you thought to yourself. _Peddle to the metal, Grandpa!_

Shit, you were so damn tired.

To be fair, you_ all_ were, angel included. This hunt had been a rough one – the toughest hunt in quite some time, actually. Castiel had brought back bad intel, claiming that the vamp next was small – just three or four at most. But when you and the guys had finally tracked the nest down, Castiel's "just a few" had turned into _eight_ fully-fledged and mature vampires. It had taken about that many hours to wipe the nest clean; it had been a bloody, drawn-out affair involving no less than a kidnap (of you), a frenzied two-man battle against superior forces (Dean and Sam, stakes whirling), and a timely intervention (thanks to Cas).

It now took what little strength you had left, just to hold your head up. You shivered a bit and leaned forward to fish around at your feet – your fingers searched desperately for the thick, threadbare quilt you always brought along with you on these long runs. After a moment of sleepy scrabbling, you grabbed a good fistful of the quilt and finally managed to drape it over your legs. Without further ado, you tried to sink back against the leather seat of the Impala bit and relax; you had the wistful hope of maybe having a chance to close your eyes and take a little cat nap.

No such luck.

You were smooshed uncomfortably between Dean's broad shoulders and Cas' firm side. Thanks to the two of them and their muscled bulks, you were left with very little wiggle room. Short of leaning your head on one of their shoulders, you had very little ability to curl into a comfortable position.

"Dean!" you grouched. "Move over!"

You bumped his right leg with your left knee. This solicited a rather half-hearted grunt; you looked over at him just in time to see his green eyes flash at you in something you mistook for irritation.

"Why are you even back here?" you continued whining; if Cas had been the only other body in the back, you'd have had ample room for laying your cheek flat against the passenger-side window and catching some z's. "And why the hell is Sammy driving Baby? You _never_ let him drive, if you're whole and sentient."

That got a chuckle from both Sam and Dean – but no answer, you noticed with rising suspicion. Cas, who had his elbow propped up on the window sill on his side, turned and gave you a warm smile. Dean just smirked at you, his expression rather out of place, given the situation; you scowled back at him. Sam glanced back at you from the rear-view mirror and finally offered something of an explanation.

"Shut it, [Y/N]. I don't get the opportunity to drive very often and when Dean offered," Sam shrugged nonchalantly, as if his older brother's acquiescence was _normal_. "I couldn't let the opportunity pass be my. Besides...I don't think you mind much."

Sam winked rather wickedly and you narrowed your eyes at him, feigning disgust in order to hide your surprise. Your body betrayed you, though, as your face brightened in a blaze of embarrassment. Holy hell – Sam had somehow put two and two together. Not that it was too hard for the perceptive bystander, you admitted grudgingly to yourself; you hadn't exactly gone out of your way to hide your healthy-sized crush on Dean.

Of course, this was old news – Sam knowing about your crush. He had make little teasing comments before, whenever Dean was in the room with the two of you. About a week ago, you had finally had enough and had threatened Sam with what had to be the definitive ultimatum.

"_I'm going to wait for you to fall asleep and cut off all your damn hair!" _you had thundered your disapproval from across the Bunker library, once Dean had wandered out toward the garage. _"We're talking like Jesse Ventura, here!"_

Sam had just laughed in your face. He knew that you weren't exactly in touch with your inner Delilah. Not to mention, sneaking up on _either_ of the Winchesters in their sleep was impossible. They could sense impending doom from the deepest reaches of their deepest sleep. Even the Moose, with his notorious ability to all but sleep through the Apocalypse, was wily enough to sense when he was being approached in the dark with sharp, pointy objects intent on wreaking destruction.

"Bite me Sam" you muttered under your breath, in the hear and now.

You felt Cas laughing, his shoulders shuddering gently against yours, and you turned to glare at him.

"You too, Cas. You can just bite my ass."

You stuck your tongue out at him in a childish manner and crossed your arms mulishly over your chest. It was bad enough to know that Sam had picked up on your crush...but Castiel, too? The indignity was almost unbearable.

You were so caught up in fighting off the sudden desire to disappear, that you almost didn't catch what Dean suddenly whispered into your ear.

"Don't get mad at Sam – he's just doing what he's told. I wanted to enjoy the view from the backseat for once, [Y/N]."

The feel of his breath – hot and smelling like the gum he's been chewing furiously through the hunt – made you jump. You turned your head abruptly toward him and saw that he had somehow managed to scoot even closer toward you, while you'd been fussing at Sam. The nearly-burning heat of his breath washed over your neck and stirred a few strands of hair that had fallen free from your ponytail. You couldn't suppress a small, instinctual shiver of pleasure; damn Dean back to Hell, but he noticed. A wicked smirk curled the corners of his plush mouth and so help you, you felt desire pool heavily between your legs. His smile _always_ did this to you, to varying degrees – it always made you hot, bothered, and wanton. Fuck. You had wanted to feel those lips against your core from the first time you'd lain eyes on them.

Uncomfortable with the sudden tension weighing down the air inside of the Impala, you shifted a bit and tried not to notice the fire blazing inside of those peridot colored eyes. Those lips, that smile, those eyes had lead to many, many unfulfilled fantasies in the dark privacy of your midnight bedroom, when you were buried under your covers and afforded the brief chance to alleviate some of the effects of existing in close quarters with the Adonis that was Dean Winchester.

And you would murder God himself, if any soul ever found out and breathed a word of your desires to Dean.

You finally found your voice – treacherous and squeaky as it was.

"'Enjoy the view'?" you repeated, suspecting the true intention of his words, but unwilling to trust your instincts.

Your mouth moved, but your wicked eyes remained transfixed at his lips. You chewed on your bottom lip, an unconscious habit when you were nervous, and was started when a low groan moved across the delicate skin of your skin. Your eyes snapped up to his and you saw that his eyes had flickered down toward your mouth; only then did you realize that you had worried your lip between your teeth.

This seemed to snap you back into something like reality – a reality where Dean Winchester did _not_ recripcoate your lust-laden fantasies. You blinked a few times, let go of your lip, and tried to laugh. It was a heartless, unconvincing sound, even to your own ears.

"You're such a dog, Dean," you rolled your eyes – more for the benefit of your courage than anything else.

It was _so_ much easier to deny the obvious. Because if Dean wanted you...you knew what would happen. You would fall for him like an angel from Heaven and there was no turning back from such a rookie move. Dean didn't stick around for second chances; you were well acquainted with his string of one-night stands, having (like poor Sam) walked in on him more than once, laid bare and glorious on the top of some skeezy motel bed. You had no desire to be one more notch on his metaphorical belt, so you did what you had to do – what you always had to do, when you felt yourself growing soft and willing around him. You pulled your defenses up around you and found some way of ignoring the look in his eyes.

"Wake me up when we get close to home, will ya'?"

You turned away from him, as if that settled the matter. The best way to back up your bravado was to just go all-out with it, so you shuffled around a bit – your hips gently bumping against the pair on either side of you – and boldly threw your legs up over Dean's lap. You braced your shoulders between the backseat and Cas' shoulder and closed your eyes with iron-clad resolution.

Your bluff actually worked – on you, anyway. You dimly heard Dean chuckle something darkly underneath his breath, along the lines of: "Can't help it, [Y/N], it's in my nature." But, you ignored it and snuggled down against Cas' firm form. Your breath evened out after about ten minutes and your body slowly eased itself into a surprisingly deep sleep. Even weird vibes between you and Dean couldn't erase the fact that the hunt had wiped your energy completely out. Simmering sexual tension or not, you happily gave into the warm oblivion that wrapped around you as close as your time-worn quilt.

As a result, you missed the pointed, mischievous look that Dean turned first to Castiel and then to Sam.

* * *

><p>You weren't sure how long you'd been asleep – maybe an hour, maybe two – but you woke up suddenly to the sensation of something rough sliding slowly across your bottom lip. You blinked open bleary eyes and noticed immediately that you were no longer leaning against Cas' shoulder. The angel had apparently shrugged you off his shoulder and re-positioned you to a more comfortable – and intimate – position across his lap. Your head rested against his right thigh as easily as if it were a pillow; this apparently gave him greater access to your face, as the warm hollow of his palm cupped your cheek.<p>

He was running a thumb experimentally across your lip – back and forth, then forth and back with agonizing tenderness. You blinked a few more times, in an attempt to gather your sleep-scattered thoughts.

"Looks like our [Y/N] finally woke up," Cas whispered, his voice even more gravely than usual (you hadn't ever thought that was actually possible, but apparently it was.

"Good," Dean's raspy purr answered back; there was _no_ denying the sexual intensity of that quiet rumble.

You were fully awake now and tried to sit up, but Cas abruptly flattened a palm _right between your breasts_ and pushed you back down against his lap. Your mouth fell open in shock and you stared up at him, at a total (and rare) loss for words. The angel had never touched so much as your shoulder before, being rather conscious about keeping his hands to himself, unless they were needed to heal. Where the fuck had _this_ come from? Castiel's eyes were wide and intense, and you were suddenly, jarringly aware of his _desire_.

Whoa. When had _that_ happened?

You didn't have time to figure out the answer to that question, however, since the calloused hand that had been resting on your left knee started to slide sensuously up your bare thigh. You were abruptly thankful for the otherwise ill-advised decision to wear the damn shorts; you _so _shouldn't welcome the intent of that roving hand, but it _felt too damn good_ to shoo away. You couldn't help a soft yelp of surprise, when Dean squeezed your upper thigh, his knuckles just brushing the frayed hem of your shorts. Your cry sharpened an octave when he moved that hand and gently smacked the inside of your thigh, uncomfortably close to your fully awakened core. You let out a puff of breath that you didn't know you had been holding and watched, wide-eyed and helpless, as Dean slowly leaned to the side and hovered over you.

"Just tell me to stop, if this gets to be too much for you," he meant it (mostly) as a courtesy, but it came out more like a challenge.

Too much for me? There wasn't a damn thing Dean could do that was "too much" for me. I could take whatever he had to dish out and told him that more than once. Mind you, such words had been shot back between the distance of the combat training room mats, but your stubborn determination still applied. In love or war, you were no wuss.

Something of your thoughts must have shown on your face, because Dean laughed – a rich, decadent, sexy-as-_fuck_ sound. He winked cheekily at you and before you could even react, his fingers slid between the bottom of your jeans and your skin. You squeaked.

"I wouldn't count your chickens before they hatch, sweetheart," he smiled, his teeth flashing brightly in the passing light of a street lamp.

"Fuck you, Dean," you managed to huff-and-puff, if only in _token_ resistance, as his fingertips brushed the hidden curve of your panties.

"That's the plan," he winked at you again, all bad boy insolence, and you all but melted into Cas' lap.

And, speaking of the erstwhile angel...

"Hey, Cas," Dean lifted his head, his eyes as wicked as any demon's. "Unbutton her pants."

You squirmed underneath the quilt in conflicted anticipation; your ass brushed languorously against the leather seat. Mouth open in a protestation that never formed, you looked up at Castiel in something almost like supplication. The words to plead against his involvement were poised on the tip of your tongue – but vanished with one look at the lust that illuminated his intense blue gaze.

"Cas...?" you said instead, your voice wavering uncertainly in the unbearably hot air among the three of you.

"Shhh," the angel put one long finger against your lips, as his other hand slid hard between your breasts, down your stomach, and stopped abruptly at the top of your jeans.

He pulled up your tank top...and kept pulling at it, until it was bunched up over your breasts. You would have thrown your arms over your chest in embarrassment, but Dean had grabbed both of your wrists in one large hand and held you, helpless against all intentions. Cas ran his fingers over the soft swell of your breasts, which were heaving sporadically above the generous cups of your cute, red-plaid patterned bra. He seemed to be savoring the feel of your skin, as he slowly traced a path down, again, toward your shorts.

Meanwhile, Dean was slowly burrowing his hand deeper into your jeans. He wormed two fingers beneath the edge of your panties and was gently rubbing his fingertips back and forth over the smoothly shaved skin of your pubic mound. You had to bite your lip to keep from panting into the silent Impala; desperately realizing that Sam was sitting inches away in the front seat, your eyes snapped toward the rear-view mirror at the same moment that Cas' fingers found the button of your jeans.

Sam's hazel, ever-changing eyes met yours through the mirror. You nearly choked in a mixture of surprise and dismay.

"There is no need to be embarrassed," Castiel's rough rasp smoothed over the burning edges of my cheeks, as he slid your zipper deftly down toward the wiggling digits beneath the fabric. "You are beautiful and easy to desire."

Holy hell. You had never imagined that such words could have come from Cas' mouth. Sure, you had sneaked glances at him from time to time – the angel was mighty easy on the eyes himself. And sure, you'd had a few random, half-formed fantasies of Sam, too. But, the majority of your lust had been exclusively focused on Dean and you hadn't given any thought whatsoever of sharing your latent sexuality with _all three of them_.

_Don't lie_, a wicked little voice piped up from the deepest, darkest depths of your imagination.

Dean had removed his fingers from under your jeans and was now dragging the fabric slowly down your legs. He had shoved the quilt down to your feet, which were pressed desperately against the curve of the door handle on his side. You were totally exposed to all three gazes – Cas' baby blues, Dean's wicked green, Sam's observant combination of both.

_You've had fantasies...you've wondered what it would be like to have all three..at once._

Images flashed desperately through your mind and you sagged helplessly, bonelessly, into the leather beneath you, as Castiel gave voice to _every single one_.

Dean's fingers left you the decency, at least, of your "cheeky" bikini panties, which matched your bra. You had a fleeting thought that it would be a pity that Dean didn't see your ass, cupped quite attractively in the lace undies, but all thought immediately dribbled out your ears at the sound of Castiel's dirty, deep-chested whispers and at the incredible pleasure of Dean's expert fingers rubbing feather-light circles against the full swell of your panties.

"Your thoughts have been hard to ignore, [Y/N]," the angel's breath ghosted gently across your forehead, as he bent over you; he flattened both palms against your thighs and slowly rubbed his hands up and down, as Dean's fingers mapped the lace-covered contours of your pussy. "You have such wicked, immoral thoughts. Shall I name them all?"

You could only whimper – whether from Cas' surprising verbal dominance, or because of the unexpected thrust of Dean's forefinger beneath your panties, you couldn't tell. You did manage to draw together enough of your faculties to weakly shake your head, almost terrified by the angel's suggestion.

"Sins should be spoken," he looked down at you solemnly; his fingers dipped into the soft, sweat-slicked groove between your thigh and pussy. "Consider this your confession, [Y/N]."

Dean laughed at that and your eyes snapped to him. He was still grinning like an idiot and his fingers had never once stopped moving. He had moved your panties to the side and held them firmly away from your dripping core with his free hand. With the other, he slid his forefinger into your folds and slowly separated them. He coated his finger in your slick heat and casually rubbed it up and over the hood of your clit.

Your hips took on a mind of their own and you spared a desperate glance toward the rear view mirror. Sam was dividing his attention between you and the road; his jaw was tight with tension and you knew without a shadow of the doubt that the sight of his brother's fingers slipping and sliding over you was giving him a hard-on.

"Where to start?" Cas continued doggedly onward, his voice so goddamn sexy that it was practically another player against your body. "I've listened to you imagining Dean in the shower with you, fucking you hard from behind, your breasts pressed flat against the tiled wall."

Dean's thick fingertip burrowed abruptly under your clitoral hood and firmly pushed against that glorious little bead of pleasure. Your hips _rolled_ as if possessed by a succubus, your mouth hung open in a half-formed cry.

"I've watched you dream about taking Dean and I at once," Castiel's right hand suddenly slipped between my legs and underneath Dean's; you finally keened, loud and desperate, as one of the angel's fingers traced the opening of your vulva with a teasing, maddening pressure. "I first wanted to take you then, in the way that you imagined – your face in Dean's lap and my cock pounding your throat down his hard length."

_Holy fucking shit!_ Where in God's green earth had Castiel found such a decadent, sexy, _dirty_ vocabulary? Sam apparently thought the same – you didn't hear his words distinctly, as wrapped up as you were in your incredible pleasure – but you heard his voice move roughly through the air.

"I'd say ole' Cas here has been listening in on _my_ mind," Dean spoke as conversationally as if they were all discussing the particulars of your previous hunt together.

His fingers never stopped moving against your clit. Your eyes were now squeezed shut, your body trembling uncontrollably with the incredible waves of raw sensation that made your nipples go taunt and your toes curl. Another finger burrowed inside of you, moving in opposite motions from Cas' and you finally howled in unspeakable pleasure, when you realized that _both_ hunter and angel were moving inside of you. They took turns, too, the pads of their fingers curling firmly against the spot deep inside of you and just behind your clit.

"I have been taking tips from you, yes," Cas confirmed Dean's suspicion, before continuing in the lusty veins of his previous words. "Although, I am merely communicating the truth of [Y/N]'s desires – like the one where she wants to know what it feels like to feel both of you two brothers inside of her at once. Sam behind her, Dean in front."

You were beyond speech now, beyond human thought, beyond anything except primal moans and throaty gasps.

"Shit, Cas," Sam finally broke across the heavy panting of your breath; his voice was deeper than you had ever heard it before.

You looked over at him, your eyes barely cracked open. You saw him watching you intensley and only then did you dimly realize that the Impala had stopped. Sam had pulled the car to the side of the road and given the rapid rise and fall of his own breathing, you knew without any doubt that he was rubbing one out while he watched Cas and Dean work you over toward your own orgasm.

You arched your back and cried out, not caring if you were wanton and deviant. You couldn't have imagined anything like this, even in your dirtiest dreams.

"Oh, yes you could," Cas sharply thrust his finger hard against your g-spot and you screamed; your arms flailed against the seat, now that Dean had let your wrists go, and your hands sought purchase on the leather. "And, you _have_."

"Cas, pull her bra down," Sam panted and Dean growled roughly in agreement.

You were helpless, your legs now spread wide open, one trembling limb still perched across Dean's lap, one draped bonelessly over the edge of the backseat so that your foot brushed against the floor. You could feel Dean's cock, hard against the ridge of his jeans, and you couldn't help a tentative brush against it with the side of your calf.

Cas' one hand never left its dominant exploration of your inner muscles, but his free hand reached up and pulled down your bra with a roughness you hadn't suspected he was capable of expressing. Your nipples tightened in the cool air, but Castiel didn't let your breasts remain unmolested for long. He rolled one pert nipple between forefinger and thumb; he tugged it upward until your back arched, which pushed your body against the fingers inside of you, and then let go with a sharp twist.

"Fuck!" you finally found one word that you could sling into the fray of sexual frustration.

"You've imagined Sam doing to this to you," he moved his hand to your other breast and started to do the same, his motions calculated and deliberate.

You were a soaking, wanton mass against the hands that cupped you. Dean never let up from your clit and you could feel your orgasm building heavily at the bottom of your stomach. Cas and Dean still fingered you together – their fingers moving in tandem now – and they had stretched you wider than ever before. _Four_ fingers now moved inside of you – two of Dean's, two of Cas'. Someone's ring finger – you didn't know and no longer cared – pressed questioningly against the rose-colored pucker below. The finger barely penetrated you – only a knuckle-deep – but it was just enough to create a maddeningly delicious friction that rubbed back and forth with hip-rolling pleasure.

"You've imagined Dean teaching me how to make you come on my tongue," _that _voice never stopped; in fact, Cas' words now came faster, a veritable tumble from his lips that kept time with the coiling pressure inside of you and the fingers that wreaked havoc on your senses.

You were dimly aware of the prominent bulge that pressed against your cheek and you licked your lips at the fleeting thought of taking Cas deep into your throat.

"You've imagined wrapping your lips around Dean's cock," Cas was now panting, as if overcome himself with the words he was letting fall and fuel the amazing finger-fucking that was taking place so openly in the backseat. "And then around Sam's, one and then the other, while I fuck your ass."

Dean growled, as if the thought of Cas doing any such thing to me angered him – or maybe aroused him, you weren't sure. Sam yelped something through clenched teeth from the front seat and you glanced over long enough to see that his head was bowed, his eyes squeezed shut. You could feel your body begin to spiral out of control, as Dean started lightly pinching and tugging on your clit.

"I've heard you come from the thought of you riding Sam's lap, while watching Dean stand behind you both and pleasure himself," Cas' words were starting to slur together and his chest heaved above you.

"Now," Dean grunted abruptly, both he and Castiel moved in unison.

They _both_ curled their fingers inside of you at the same time and hit your tender spot with such force that you had no choice _but_ to burst into fractured pieces against their hands. Those same fingers thrust steadily inside of you, never stopping, as you rode out the yawning expanse of your orgasm. Dean kept rubbing your clit, Cas kept palming your breasts, and no one stopped until both you and Sam came wholly apart at the same time, your cries of release mingling in the crisp October night.

And if Cas and Dean minded being left with raging hard-ons trapped inside their respective pants, they never let on. Of course, you realized in retrospect, they probably didn't complain, because they both made good on their intentions once Sam finally eased the Impala back into the garage. It was a scramble and a race to get to your room first, so you could bar the door.

But, you hadn't really meant it – how could you ever want to sleep alone after such a mind-blowing ride? Three men hunted you down and instead of locking the door against their amorous advances, you welcomed them.

And that was how you stumbled into your room, arms wrapped around Dean's neck as your tongues waged war with each other; progress impeded slightly by Sam who walked with you, hands fumbling between you and Dean in an attempt to unbutton your jeans again; intentions of chastity blown away by a snap of Cas' fingers and the feel of hot skin sliding against yours at every side.

This was a love game – these searching fingers, desperate mouths, and hungry bodies – and you were playing to lose with the three best players in town...


End file.
